


Micro-Fic dump 1

by aquatarius



Series: Micro Fic Dump [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Suicide, not amporacest, not edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquatarius/pseuds/aquatarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of micro fics I've written and am dumping here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Micro-Fic dump 1

**Author's Note:**

> Small micro fics I've written, sometimes prompted. The prompt will be given if it's prompted.

([I] trusted [you]) 

“I trusted you!”

“Porrim, please, understand, I didn’t-”

“I trusted you and you let her take me! Do you have any idea what she did, Dualscar?!”

“Yes, please, calm down, I just-”

The Dolorosa slapped Dualscar, then spun and stormed off, her eyes holding a storm even in their blank, dead state. Dualscar hunched up his shoulders, and bowed his head. She’d trusted him, and he’d let her down. That would be his final mistake with her. Ever. 

* * *

 

(Overgrown)

Dave balanced his sword on his head while he ate his cereal, his face stoic and straight as ever. Rose was trying to schedule a meet up with some forces that had agreed to try to take out a handful of drones in a holding facility a few miles north of the warehouse Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider where in. 

“Lalonde.”

“Strider.”

“I’m going into battle like this.”

“All right. Will your report be written in crayon or washable markers?” 

“…”

“I’ll get you a book on that overgrown child syndrome you have.” 

Strider’s jaw set slightly, and he set down his spoon and let the sword fall off his head. Lalonde smirked.

* * *

(In dreams.) 

In dreams, Aradia was able to stay for more then five minutes. in dreams, Mister Z didn’t go back to his mine shaft. In dreams, Nepeta didn’t die of old age within the first thousand years of his exile. In dreams, he didn’t have to speak to some broken, teen helm over a computer, or a mutant blood child. In dreams, he wasn’t ever alone. 

In dreams…seemed like a very nice place to be. Maybe that’s why he put a gun to his head. 

* * *

(Home is where you Hang your hat.)

They say hive is where you hang your hat. Dualscar didn’t have a hat. He did, however, have a very large and very cozy cape. He was currently wearing said cape as he strode into the bubble that he and the Grand Highblood Makara shared with the Helm Dualscar had found. 

The sight he saw was rather heart rending. His moirail, Makara, was curled up around the Helm. The Helm was in a rather sad state, bloody and whimpering in his sleep, and Makara was shirtless, shivering as he tried to sleep as well. 

Dualscar crept over, and slipped off his cape, draping it over the two sleeping trolls. He purred softly as he watched the Helm snuggle under the cape, and Makara honk softly in his sleep. 

Hive might be where you hang, or drape, your cape, if you don’t have a hat. Heavens knew that was true for Dualscar. 

* * *

(Help)

“…What the ever lovin’ hell are ye doin’ here, wriggler.” Dualscar said, baring his fangs at the wriggler that was standing on his boat ramp. Blood dripped out of the boy’s mouth, and from his waist. The wriggler had Dualscar’s own horns, his own exact blood color. 

“H-help.” The wriggler said. He sniffled pathetically, and Dualscar thought about how if he was alive, on Alternia, how he’d cull this wriggler without a second thought, horns or no horns. 

“Who are ya?” Dualscar snapped. 

“I need, help. P-please.” The wriggler was stuttering over his own words. Dualscar narrowed his eyes and stalked forward. He was about to shove the wriggler off his ship when the wriggler looked up. 

There was something in that motion, looking up to see Dualscar come. Something about the way his lip jerked down just slightly, and he whined. Dualscar snarled and reached down to grab the wriggler by the back of his shirt, and scarf, and jerk him up. 

“…What’s yer name?” He asked. 

“Eridan. Eridan, Ampora.” 

“…Dualscar.” 

“Nice, to meecha.”

“Yeah.” 

* * *

  “What do you call…a man who think’s he’s a horse?” Dualscar looked up and frowned at the Grand Highblood. 

“What are ya on about now, clown?” He snapped. They were sitting in an office, awaiting the appearance of their lovely empress. Dualscar was attempting to file some paper work he’d been putting off, but the Grand Highblood had no such chores. He slouched in his seat, dangling a club from his hand.

  “I said, What do you call a man who thinks he’s a horse?” The Highblood repeated. Dualscar rolled his eyes. 

  “I don’t  _know_ , Makara, what do you call a man who thinks he’s a horse?” Dualscar indulged. He reached for his coffee, and sipped it. 

  “Darkleer.” 

  The coffee was spurted over the papers and up the Orphaner’s nose. He tried for several moments to muffle his laughter. The Highblood chuckled deeply, and Dualscar quieted himself down and snorted. 

  “That’s  _rude_ , Makara.” He said. 

  “Don’t I know it.” The clown said. “Now, what do you call a fish who can’t swim?”

  “What?”

  “Dualscar.”

  The coffee was spilled on the clown this time. 

* * *

You sit and wait for the Lord Makara to pay attention to you. He’s muttering to a skull he has in his hand, with two large, zig zaggy horns jutting out of it. The jaw bone is completely off, but he holds it up and makes the skull look like it’s talking from time to time. He keeps muttering, only stopping to move the jaw every now and then. 

  Your wings are beginning to hurt from the binding you’ve put them in. Not to mention they’re getting sweaty. You clear your throat and Lord Makara looks up at you.

  “What is it, FAIRY?” He asks, his voice going from whispers to shout in a moment. You wince, and feel a bit of pain shoot up your wing. You hope you don’t pull one. That would be awful. And probably get you culled. 

  “Er…I hate to interrupt your conversation with your…skull, but-”

  “His  _name_  is Cronus. He’s a wizard.” Lord Makara interupts, his face snarling behind his paint as if he takes a personal affront to you not knowing the skull’s name. You stare at Lord Makara before nodding for a long few moments. 

  “O-kaaaay.” You say. He relaxes and makes the jaw bone move a few times.

  “Yes, I quite agree, Captain. The fairy should leave us now.

  You’re a little to weirded out to object, so you slowly back up out of the room, nodding a few more times. As soon as you’re out, you stare at the guards, who stare back.

  “You met the captain?” One of them quips. You nod and they share a few snickers. You are not down with the clowns right now, and you are not down with the captain. 

 

 


End file.
